


heartbeat

by rangerhitomi



Series: gods and dragons [3]
Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Aftermath of Ibuki's Fight With Gastille, CFVGZ, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 19:32:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18923614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerhitomi/pseuds/rangerhitomi
Summary: Ibuki's brush with death at Gastille's hands ends with him in Mamoru's arms, spilling his most painful secrets.





	heartbeat

**Author's Note:**

> i've been rewatching cfvgz lately... lots of feelings about ibumamo... i've been writing a lot of canon compliant fics because you know they're making out behind the scenes but also trying to reassure each other that they're not alone

He isn't moving quickly; he stumbles over the cracks in the sidewalk, keeping from falling over by keeping his hand on the sides of the buildings along the path.

Mamoru catches up to him without having to break his comfortable stride.

"You trying to ditch me?"

Ibuki grimaces as he turns away. "I'm tired. I wanted to go home."

"What, and miss out on Chrono playing the part of Santa? You owe him _big time,_ by the way."

An understatement, judging by Ibuki's downcast expression. Chrono had been sparse on the details, but it seemed Ibuki had nearly died just an hour earlier, and Chrono had gotten there barely in time to keep Gastille from killing him. Ibuki opens his mouth and closes it again before dragging himself away.

Mamoru follows. It's beginning to snow. "You live too far away to walk home like this."

"I'll manage."

"Kouji."

Mamoru steps in front of him, blocking his path forward. Ibuki isn't wearing a coat--he's barely wearing a shirt under his light jacket, his top three buttons undone to display his chest covered in scratch marks--and his eyes are so shadowed it's like he's painted them that way.

It's hard to look at him.

Mamoru shrugs off his coat, draping it over Ibuki's shoulders. When Ibuki tenses up, Mamoru reaches down without hesitation and takes him by the hand.

They've touched, they've held each other, they've kissed. But each new step in their relationship had amplified Ibuki's insecurities, heightened his fears that if the enemy found out about them that they would target Mamoru next. The apostles of Gyze aren't above anything to get their way; Gastille's attempts to murder Ibuki prove that.

Ibuki worrying so much about Mamoru would be endearing if it wasn't Ibuki who was always in the most danger.

They'd agreed one night, as they lay side-by-side in Mamoru's bed, to wait until this next chapter in the fight to protect Earth and Cray was over to continue on together. Maybe then they could have a normal life.

But Mamoru is tired of waiting.

"I'm going home," he whispers, rubbing the back of Ibuki's frozen hand with his thumb, "and you're coming with me."

Ibuki doesn't argue, though Mamoru expected him to. Ibuki lets himself be dragged along, sliding over the slick pavement with one hand over his heart. Mamoru keeps him upright; they have to walk slower. He's getting cold, but Ibuki's shivering has lessened so it is worth the discomfort.

"He was trying to kill me to make it easier to kill Messiah," Ibuki blurts out after several minutes of silence. His hand grips Mamoru's with a deceptive amount of force. "My bond with Messiah is..."

Mamoru understands, probably better than most. But there are still many, many things about Ibuki and Messiah that he doesn't understand at all. "We're here. Let's talk once we're inside."

They go up to Mamoru's apartment. After disabling his security system, he leads Ibuki in. Ibuki settles on the sofa as Mamoru goes to the kitchen to make some tea, something hot and soothing, something to relax Ibuki's tense muscles and weakened heart, so chamomile it is.

He knows that the moment he is sitting on the sofa next to Ibuki, he isn't going to want to get up, and waits in the kitchen for the tea kettle to heat. Anxiety fills his gut as he waits, anxiety over what happened to the man he loves, over the revelation that the apostles are planning on using Chrono as Gyze's vessel, over the fact that he was, once again, helpless to do anything about it.

He texts Chrono, a simple _I’ve got Ibuki at my place, I’ll take care of him tonight,_ if only to ease Chrono’s worries, because Chrono _will_ worry; the other kids will worry too, seeing the stalwart Ibuki reduced to a huddled, exhausted mess in Mamoru’s sitting room.

The tea kettle whistles, causing Mamoru to jump; he mentally berates himself. Ibuki needs him to be a calming force right now, more than any other time. He can't afford to be jumpy.

He sets the steaming mugs on the coffee table and settles in next to Ibuki, whose eyes are redder than usual, with faint lines of wetness slicing through the shadows on Ibuki's face. Mamoru takes Ibuki's hand again, tighter than before, his own chest tightening with despair. He'd never seen Ibuki cry before. As far as he knew, Ibuki wasn't capable of shedding tears.

 _Be strong for him,_ he chides himself.

They kiss.

It's Ibuki who initiates it this time, eyes closed as trembling lips seek out Mamoru's; his free hand clings to the front of Mamoru's shirt and he pulls their linked hands between them, pressing deeper and deeper into it until Mamoru's back is buried in the cushions and Ibuki is on top of him and their mouths tear hungrily at the other's. There's a forcefulness to it that had never been there before, a silent desperation; Ibuki had nearly died, after all, and their lives are fragile existences that an awakened Gyze could and would snuff out in an instant. This thought is at the forefront of Mamoru's mind, as it must be at the forefront of Ibuki's, and their mouths finally part for air, a thin string of saliva dangling between them.

"Mamoru," Ibuki breathes, his head slumping into the crook of Mamoru's neck, "I... I... want to tell you something I've never told you before, or, or anyone else, really."

Mamoru strokes Ibuki's hair as he wipes the spit from his chin, fingers lingering on his kiss-swollen lips. He's comfortable, lying here like this, and it would be just as comfortable to feel Ibuki's heart beating against his, the soft _th-thump_ reminding them both that they were still alive. Instead, he guides Ibuki to a sitting position and reaches for the cooling tea on the coffee table. "Here. This will calm our nerves."

"I just hope you won't think poorly of me when I'm finished."

"Well, unless you're secretly a serial killer or something, I don't think there's anything you can say that would make me think anything for you other than admiration." Mamoru meant it in a teasing way, but Ibuki's brows furrow and Mamoru's silly smile fades. "You're... not a serial killer, right?"

"Of course not." Ibuki bristles. "Just, just listen and... I'll try to explain..."

Mamoru waits for Ibuki to take a deep drink of the tea and breathe. Concern wells inside of him. He feels it's not an appropriate time to make another blasé comment; he stays silent as Ibuki closes his eyes and finally begins.

"A long time ago, I loved Vanguard. I loved playing with my friends, loved seeing them smile. I didn't like losing but I hated the thought of people not liking me, so I often let my opponents win... When one of my best friends moved away and the other became depressed and quit playing, I tried to make new friends... but in my desire to make people like me, they mocked me and bullied me instead. I was lonely. I was... desperate." Ibuki takes another sip of tea. He doesn't look up at Mamoru, who is starting to see where this story is headed, but wants desperately for it to have a different outcome.

"One night, I was crying in my room when I heard a voice. It told me that it, too, was lonely. We could be strong together. I acquired a deck... they called themselves Deletors. They found me, through my despair, connected to me. And over time, they began to mold me into a vessel to destroy Vanguard.” Ibuki’s hands shake as he sets the near-empty mug back on the coffee table. He isn’t looking at Mamoru, who wants badly to take Ibuki in his arms but doesn’t, because he knows Ibuki needs to put this part of his past in the open. “I started to hate Vanguard, and I was determined to make others hate it, too. I destroyed many fighters’ bonds with their units, ripped Vanguard away from them... “ He trails off, voice breaking. “The, the Deletors had some kind of ability… a kind of Link Joker that went beyond locking units, but severing them from their Vanguards. And, every time I did it, I, I didn’t feel remorse. I was satisfied, because that was one less person who had to suffer from Vanguard, the way I did.”

This must be taking all of Ibuki’s courage, sharing something he knows will hurt Mamoru. But it has to hurt Ibuki so much more, this guilt, this remorse, lasting for years and years with no hope to truly repent for it.

“I don’t know if most of those fighters I severed from their Vanguards ever recovered. I pray they did. There are so many things about my past I just… don’t remember. Long periods of time where there’s nothing, where they had me completely in their grasp. I don’t want to know what I did, who I hurt, whether those people could have recovered from that emptiness…” He picks up the tea again, holding it tightly in his hands. “Someone saved me, in the end. They wielded Messiah, destroyed the Deletors, and entrusted Messiah to me, so I could make amends. After so long, I could finally think clearly again, just in time to truly realize the impact of my actions.” Finally, he looks up at Mamoru, who is staring into the cold dregs of his own tea.

He doesn’t quite know what to say to all this. He expected something terrible, something Ibuki never talked about to anyone, ever, but somehow this is worse than Mamoru had ever imagined. It’s worse, because if he and Ibuki had known each other back then, Ibuki would have ripped Mamoru from his Vanguard.

It’s chilling, horrifying, and heartbreaking.

“I know, it’s not possible to undo what I did but, I can at least protect Vanguard, protect Cray, and protect the people I care about… and if I lose my life in the process, then, I think I could finally be at peace.”

Mamoru takes the mug from Ibuki, sets it aside, and pulls Ibuki into a tight embrace.

They sit together on the sofa for a long time, arms wound around the other. Mamoru strokes Ibuki’s hair with all the tenderness he has ever shown anyone else outside his own family; he wants to cry, cry for Ibuki, cry for those Ibuki once hurt, cry for the uncertain future they now face. He doesn’t, because Ibuki needs reassurance and strength and love from Mamoru at that moment, so Mamoru gives all he has.

“If I can keep you from hurting, I’ll do anything,” he whispers into Ibuki’s hair. “You made terrible mistakes, but no one is beyond forgiveness. The burden of the world isn’t yours to shoulder alone, Kouji. We’re here, too. I’m here.”

“Thank you,” Ibuki whispers back, and they fall back onto the cushions.

They sleep together on the sofa, Ibuki using Mamoru’s chest as a pillow as Mamoru finally drifts off to the gentle rhythm of Ibuki’s heartbeat.


End file.
